[transcribed from a large moleskine sketchbook, with the
disclaimer that follows preceding:
I'm not certain that I approve of the thickness of this
paper & the flavor of self-importance this shade of
ivory is attempting to lend to whatever I may explicate
upon.
Fie upon the gallant nature of this binding! May it be
tarnished by indecipherable ranting & other like
nonsense.]
The smell hit her like a force—a tactile sense of the
muddy water so near that maybe she was just blending senses in
her mind to include the foggy humidity suffocating the hairs in
her nose.
The warmth and the smell hugged her too tight, the way
someone does when they're trying not to cry and it made the
thoughts in her head—just for a moment—read out like
the sounds of surprised and sad puppy dogs. It hit her also,
that irony that only an animal could express what it was caught
up in her throat. So why did she ever even attempt to put it
down on paper?
She lay down on the very slightly cool grass &
considered the tension in the blades as they bent in the crook
under her knee. The star overhead seemed to get into and under
her skin in almost—but not quite—the same way, and
that was how she felt about writing: the paper is smooth &
the pen is strong and I can feel that with my fingertips and
with the side of my palm, and the things that try to come across
in words—I can almost feel them pricking me, but not
quite.
She was about to let the ocean wash her to a different world
where she was currently grateful at least that they spoke the
same language. She couldn't help but think, though, of the one
person who really did speak right to things that meant
something to her, and that his language was hard to find.
Would it feel like being handicapped to try to live without it?
A sizzling part of something inside the mourning girl's head
said that his words especially would never be very far away,
but the loss of his fingertips, truly that coule be paralyzing.
Immediately she realized the romance novel melodrama afloat in
that sentiment and attempted to rationalize it away thusly.
But for how long did she really expect to be able to depend
on that flaky bitch rationality?
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Marilyn C. Cole (email), 27, New York City, an apartment in the
Hamilton Heights end of Harlem, since August 2006. Before that,
Atlanta, Georgia for seven years, through a Georgia Tech computer
science degree and three years of learning how to be a grown-up and
still have fun. Before that, ten years in Savannah, the place that
gives her stability, that she considers to be home. Before that,
short stints in middle Georgia next to a lake; on Tybee Island next
to the beach; in a suburb of Dallas, Texas during the peak of
Dallas (the nighttime soap opera); the middle of Oklahoma for
the birth of her little brother; and Nashville, Tennessee, where she
greeted this mad messed up world.
Attending New York University's Courant Institute of Mathematical
Sciences, taking coursework toward her Masters in Computer Science,
with debatable ambitions in the direction of a Ph.D. in something or
other.
Simply head over heels for a
musician whose songs makes her
woozy, whose words make her happy, who she wants to marry one day.
Strawberry-blonde hair, blue-green-yellow eyes, pale skin
with freckles.
academia,
acoustic guitar,
acting intelligent, adventures in the car,
after-rain smell, alanis morissette, angelina jolie, ani difranco,
articulateness, artificial intelligence, audrey hepburn, avocados,
bad pick up lines, beauty, being egotistical, being insecure, ben
folds, bertrand russell, bisexuality, björk, black eyeliner,
blackberries, bloody marys, books,
britney spears, bubble baths, candy, cat power, cemeteries, cheap red
wine, collar bones, conan o'brien, cooking, cool points, crisp pickle
spears, dancing, dar williams, daria, death cab for cutie,
dismemberment plan, douglas coupland,
drinking, drugs, eating outside, eeevil, elvis costello, english
accents, etiquette, falling in love,
feminism, firefly, fishnets,
flowers, freaks and geeks, frolicking, fun, getting my way, gilmore
girls, gin and tonics, girls, google, grammatical correctness, greek
mythology, hal9000, handwritten letters, happiness, harold and maude,
harry potter, harry/draco, homemade t-shirts, hot hot baths,
intelligence, jem, joel, kids in the hall, kissing, kittens,
knee-high socks, knitting, late night conversations, laughing, life,
luna lovegood, magnetic poetry, making things, margaret atwood, math,
max rebo, mazzy star, messy hair, milk, mirah, modest mouse, my
computer, my mama and
daddy
and little bro,
night swimming, nintendo, nonsense, not waiting,
nudity, new york, originality, pi, pie,
pillows, pinky and the brain, radiohead, rainer maria, reading in the
bathtub, red popsicles, richard bach, road trips,
robots, rocking
out, roller coasters, sandals, sarcasm, seduction,
sexuality, shoes,
sifl & olly, simon & garfunkel, simone de beauvoir, singing very
loudly, skirts that twirl, sleep, songs: ohia, soup, stars, staying
up too late, subversive literature, sushi, swings, sylvia plath,
tetris, thai food, the beach, the color pink,
the history channel, the month of october, the simpsons, the smell of
bookstores, the windows down, the word indeed, thrift stores,
thunderstorms, virginia woolf, weezer, wet trampolines, winks, words.
